After Two
by the.eye.does.not.SEE
Summary: Jane and Oscar watch porn together and certain preferences come to light. [A precursor to One Night.]


_**A/N** : Originally written for the prompt "A drunk Jane confesses something to Oscar." I couldn't resist setting it in this universe after I wrote _One Night _. Enjoy! ;)_

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It was two AM on a Sunday evening and they were watching porn. Not exactly the intended use of the Lord's Day, but then again—it _was_ technically Monday, had been for two hours now, and Monday was a federal holiday. Without work to go to the next day, they had absolutely no obligations to anyone apart from themselves. So they'd decided early on in the night to get completely drunk. And now here they were, lying naked together on their couch, watching two strangers fuck each other on their television screen.

Porn hadn't been the plan for the night. In fact, they hadn't really had a plan for the night apart from relaxing quietly at home. They'd recently upgraded their cable package, though, so after dinner they decided to watch a few movies on one of their newer channels. They grabbed a few drinks, settled on the couch (fully clothed), and watched one movie and then another, letting each blend into the other, not realizing that, after 1 AM, most of their premium channels morphed without warning into full-on porn channels.

In the ten minutes it took to get up, go the bathroom, make another drink, and come back, the credits of an action movie were suddenly replaced with a close-up of a very naked woman mouthing a very erect penis.

For a full minute, neither said anything, and the silence between them only amplified the sound of moaning emanating from the TV.

"We—We should probably change the channel," Oscar eventually managed to stammer out, speaking louder than usual as if doing so might drown out the obscene background noise.

From the couch, Jane turned her head to look at him. The edges of her lips tipped upwards ever so slightly as their eyes met.

"And why should we do that?" she wondered.

They ended up making it through one and a half on-screen sex scenes before starting up one of their own. A respectable delay, Oscar thought as they tore through each other's clothes, but really, he couldn't be sure what was respectable or not. He had never watched porn with her before, or with anyone. He had watched plenty by himself, before, but those days were long behind him.

Or at least, they had been before tonight.

The plot of the movie—if it could even be called a plot—was so ridiculous that Oscar didn't even bother trying to follow it. He was, however, interested in watching Jane's reaction to it—which, when it wasn't outright arousal, seemed to be an almost studious concentration. Even after all these years together, it still made him smile to watch her take the most mundane things so seriously. But he knew it was important to her to uncover the world on her own terms, one new experience at a time, and so he didn't comment and he didn't make fun. He just lay beside her on the couch, obliging her whenever she had had enough of watching and turned to him wanting more.

Around halfway through, they had both tired from sex (and Oscar from watching the porno), but Jane was still watching with rapt attention. Oscar excused himself, slipping out from behind her to get to his feet and make his stumbling way back towards the kitchen. He had drunk far too much tonight. Far, far too much. He was in the middle of chastising himself before he thought, What does it matter? He was spending the night at home, with his wife… Why couldn't he get drunk out of his mind? Worst case scenario, he'd pass out on the couch and wake up with a god-awful hangover. At least he'd have all of Monday to recover.

Plan in mind, he was smiling to himself as he made his way back to the couch with another too-full glass of bourbon. By then a third character entered the scene.

She was much like the first woman—skinny as hell, heavily made-up, large-breasted—and yet he felt a small thrill of attraction when he looked at her. Maybe it was because she was different than the blonde woman he'd been watching being fucked for the last forty minutes. Maybe it was nothing.

To cover up his staring (not that Jane was looking at him), he cleared his throat.

"Where'd the third come from?" he called, hoping he sounded natural as he came around to the couch. "There was only the couple when I left."

"Oh, yeah…" Jane frowned, trying to think, as the two women inexplicably started making out on screen. "I think they're friends or something? Coworkers? I mean, come on, does it really matter?" She turned to him with a laugh, expecting him to share a smile with her at the absurdity of it all, but he couldn't look away from the TV. The women had started touching each other.

Jane stared at him a moment, then looked back at the TV, then looked at him.

"Tell me," she began, laying a light hand on his naked thigh, "what is it about seeing women together that makes men lose their minds?"

He shook his head, eyes still glued to the TV. "Fuck if I know, Janie," he murmured. "All I can say is, it's hot as hell."

She regarded him for a moment more, a little smile playing on her lips, before she reached her hand out a little farther, and took ahold of him. He let out a deep sigh, his eyes falling briefly closed as her fingers closed around his penis.

"Baby…"

"Shh," she whispered, tightening her grip. "Just watch."

He did as told. He opened his eyes and he watched: he watched as the women made out; he watched as one of them brought the other to orgasm with her fingers; he watched as the first one ate the other out, while the man fed the one with a free mouth his cock.

Jane kept a slow rhythm through all of it, not giving him enough to let him come in time with the action. She had something on her mind, and she was going to sort it out.

"What are you thinking about?" she whispered, kissing a trail over the curve of his shoulder so she could whisper in his ear. "What are you imagining?"

"Nothing," he bit out. She could hear the unspoken command in his brusque tone: _Let me come_. She ignored it. Instead, she purposefully slowed her touch even further.

He practically groaned out loud.

"I'm thinking of fucking you," he answered. "That's what I'm thinking of, okay? That's what I'm imagining."

She pricked him briefly with her nails, frowning. "Don't be a romantic," she scolded.

"I'm not—I _am_ thinking of fucking you. I'm thinking of you and…" He broke off, growing short of breath, and even in the dim light cast from the kitchen overhead, she could see his cheeks growing red.

"Me and…?" she prompted.

He didn't answer. She tightened her hold, picking up the pace on her strokes.

"Tell me," she pressed. "Tell me, I want to know."

"You and—and her. Anyone!"

"A woman?" she pushed, wanting specifics.

He closed his eyes. "Yes." The word slipped from between his lips, a hiss on the verge of pleasure. "Yes, Janie."

"Would you like that?" she whispered in his ear. "Seeing me with a woman?" She followed his eyes to the TV. The man had retreated off-screen again; it was just the two women now, rolling around in a disheveled bed, covered in sweat and cum, moaning and crying out with an unrealistically fast frequency as they grinded themselves against each other.

Sure, it was fake. But it was also, Jane had to admit, hot as hell.

She was just thinking of lifting herself up and sinking down into her husband's lap when suddenly he came in her hands, spurting into the air. Well, that plan was dead and gone, at least for the foreseeable future. She almost mourned the loss of feeling him inside her before remembering he had other avenues through which to curb the suddenly empty ache between her thighs.

She gave him a minute to recover himself, then she slid into his spent lap. He sighed in appreciation, nuzzling his head into her chest. His breath was hot when he yawned against her breasts, and she shivered a little at the stimulation. She reached a hand behind his neck and ruffled his hair, waiting until he finally looked up again to speak.

"Have you ever had one?" she wondered. "A threesome?"

"Me?" He looked up at her with wide, drunk-red eyes. His expression was as much surprised as it was scandalized. "No. No, no, never."

"Never came close?" she wondered.

He shook his head. "Not with anyone, and especially not with you." At the look on her face, he explained, "You and I never messed around behind each other's backs. Loyalty was important to us," he added seriously. Then one side of his mouth pulled up in a smile. "And besides—to be honest, Janie, you and I weren't nearly as adventurous in bed before the wipe as we are now."

"Oh, so you admit at least _one_ thing is better now."

He tightened his arms around her. " _Everything_ is better now."

She laughed at his earnest profession, but bent forward and gave him a grateful kiss anyway. She had meant her comment to be facetious, but she liked that he had answered it honestly. Though they'd been married for over a year now, sometimes her loss of the past still haunted her. It was nice to be reminded that he didn't miss it as much as she knew he used to.

Behind them, the moaning began again on TV. Jane almost laughed—how many times could two (now three) people fuck in a ninety-minute film?—but instead she reached for the remote. First she muted the TV, and then with a questioning glance at her husband and his resulting nod, she turned it off. He maneuvered them until they were lying down, side by side on the couch, facing one another. He yawned again, and then, knowing he'd left her without relief, he promised he'd be good to go in a few minutes. She smiled at the courtesy, but didn't respond. She wasn't thinking of having sex right now. There was something else on her mind.

It was a few minutes before she had the courage to ask. By then, Oscar had his eyes closed, and was nearly asleep. Gently, she laid a hand on his shoulder. She snuggled a little closer to him.

"Can I ask you something?" she whispered.

"Mm?" His response was little more than a grunt, but it was enough. It was perfect, actually. She figured there was no better time to talk about this than when he was drunk and sleepy. Maybe he'd forget this conversation in the morning.

"You said we… didn't mess around before. That we were loyal to each other."

"Mm." Another sleepy grunt, of agreement this time.

"And because of that, we never had a threesome."

After a few seconds, one of his eyes cracked open. "Was there a question in there, Janie?"

"Well, it's just…" It was her turn to be embarrassed now: she could feel the heat rising from her neck to her cheeks. Why had she started this conversation? Why had she insisted on ruining their night of no-consequences fun with consequences? "It's just—" She rushed through the explanation as fast as she could, both to get it out of her head, and in hopes that if she said it fast enough, he wouldn't hear. "It's just that, I don't think having a threesome inherently means you're not loyal. Especially if your partner is involved—I mean, everyone's consenting, aren't they? It's just—well, it's another way to have sex, in my opinion."

It was very quiet for a minute. She could actually hear her heart beating in her chest.

"I suppose it is another way to have sex," Oscar replied finally. "There's just the minor detail that a whole other person is involved."

"Well—yes." Jane didn't have an argument to that. But neither could she let this go. "But when I meant was, the threesome wouldn't be all about that third person, right? I mean, at the end of the day, it's about the couple that decides to have the threesome, isn't it? It's about the two people that decide to invite this other person into their sex life." Jane knew she was babbling, but she couldn't stop herself. She wished he would tell her to shut up. "For instance, you know, if _we_ were to have a threesome—well, that wouldn't necessarily mean that we don't love each other. Actually—you know, depending on who the third party is—I think a threesome might even prove that one of us loves the other even more."

"Oh?" Oscar asked. He was wide awake now. "And how do you figure that?"

"Well—let's say the third person is a woman," she began, remembering his fascination before. "Think about it: me letting another woman into our bed. Me letting you fuck another woman. I mean… That would take a good deal of trust, wouldn't it? That would take a lot of love, for me to offer you this… this temptation, and yet be sure that you wouldn't take it any further than that one threesome."

"Well, yeah, I suppose, but…"

She swallowed, anxious. "But?"

"But Jane, look, I have to tell you this… If the other woman's better in bed than you, then you and I are totally getting divorced. I'll kick you to the curb."

She poked him hard in the ribs, and he grinned, reaching over to hoist her up. He slid down until his back was on the couch, and then settled her on top of him.

"I'm kidding," he whispered, leaning up to kiss her. The assurance was unnecessary, but she appreciated it all the same. "I'd never leave you."

"I know. I wouldn't let you."

He smiled, leaning back to look up at her. He lifted his hands, brushing her dark hair out of her face, tucking what he could behind her ears. For a moment, he studied her in silence and she stared back at him.

"You've been thinking about this for a while, haven't you," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Not long," she whispered, avoiding his eyes and affirming his suspicion.

He didn't press her for details. He knew most of them without asking, anyway; she had always been easy to read, and never more so than when she was drunk. Instead of making her spell everything out, he just lifted his chin, kissed her forehead, and settled back against the couch.

"Either way, I'm glad you told me."

She blinked down at him, surprised. "You are?"

"Of course," he answered. "I love knowing what's going on in that crazy head of yours. Especially the obscene sexual proclivities."

Jane pretended to scowl at his joke, but even that didn't last long.

"I'm glad, too," she whispered. "This is nice. Being able to talk to you about these things, knowing you won't judge… It's a relief."

Oscar lifted his left hand. "Marriage, Janie. What else is it for?"

She smiled, and leaned over to kiss the ring on his hand.

"What else is it for, yes…" she echoed, holding his gaze.

He grinned, catching her eye and interpreting the look there quickly. He owed her one, after all. Such a debt wasn't something she often let him forget.

"Bed?" he offered, and she nodded readily.

Carefully, she maneuvered her way off of him and onto her feet. Each unsteady on their two legs, they both shuffled their way slowly to the bedroom at the end of the hall. They ended up having to use the walls as supports, and had nearly made it to the door when Jane heard him laughing behind her.

"What?" She chuckled herself at his unfounded mirth, glancing behind her. "What is it?"

"Nothing, nothing…" Oscar smiled, catching her eye. "It's just, you know that if we ever ask him, Weller's gonna shit a brick."


End file.
